


World on Fire

by unofficialkarkat



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Blackmail, Dystopian, M/M, Other, Prostitution, Sex, Sex Work, Violence, crockercorp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 18:05:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5550164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unofficialkarkat/pseuds/unofficialkarkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>|| O B E Y || --E || SUBMIT || </p><p>Each detail of him is like a movie playing in your head too fast. You keep pausing it, trying to see why it's so familiar. But it just keeps going.</p><p>R E JECTED REJEC TED RE JECTE D</p><p>He is the memories you can't remember, the burning inside your head that screams at something locked. Something is wrong inside of both of you.</p><p>ERROR! ERROR! ERR---</p><p>He's the fire, you're the match.</p><p>You'll watch her motherfucking kingdom burn for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	World on Fire

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how I came to writing this during my insomnia, but well, for some reason a legit fanfiction just started going in my head. It was originally a drabble, but I'm going to make it a fic.

You’d like to tell yourself that you hate how he fucks you. You really do. You wish you found it disgusting, like you  _really,_  really should. But you don’t. It’s like this every time you’re with him, from that first possessive and affection-starved encounter to the many that have followed; Dave Strider is a slut for a slut. Maybe that doesn’t describe it well, but all you really care about is that it keeps you out of trouble.

 

He’s known as The Knight, a figurehead for Crockercorp. You expected harshness from what you’d seen of him, his pretty face stoically slapped on every billboard as a reminder that if you stepped out of Crocker’s favour you’d be facing Dave Strider. Not much of a knight, you’d thought; more like an executioner. You were more than apprehensive when he contacted you, but you tried not to show it.

 

As a mutant, you’re forced to take to begging to have food in your stomach and a place to sleep. You found it easiest to get an income by selling yourself off as a fetish, fucking yourself with Crocker brand toys in front of a camera for paying viewers. It made you feel sick at first. The first few weeks were full of panic attacks and thoughts you’d rather not go into detail about. The more you did it though, the easier it was not to care. Strider must have caught the show, probably for surveillance purposes. You thought you were going to be culled, or worse. 

 

When you arrived at his specified destination, he barely let you get a word in before he was offering you protection in exchange for sex. He didn’t really wait for an answer. You didn’t really have any defense to argue. What you don’t get is how he treats you. Even at his most demanding, he talks to you like you know each other. Like you’ve known each other for so much longer. Sometimes you forget you’re strangers. Because it doesn’t feel strange how he holds you, mouths praises against your skin.

 

You think about this as he kisses up your naked back, getting you ready for today’s session. You’re naked save for a pair of panties, ones he’ll inevitably stretch to the side to get to your nook. Sometimes he likes to torture you, make you squirm and beg while you’re completely exposed and unable to do anything about. Today isn’t one of those days. You can tell because he’s being so tender, taking his time to explore your body with his hands and mouth. You love it, and it drives you crazy in confusion and regret that you do.

 

You shouldn’t, right? It shouldn’t feel good fucking someone who basically blackmailed you into it. But he treats you like you’re cherished…like he wants to give you everything. 

 

Maybe you’re just delusional. Just like everyone else on this godforsaken planet. But you’re okay with it, so long as Dave keeps bringing you back to this. He makes a safe place for you, for just you two. When he’s kissing you, when he’s inside you, everything is  **him** , not  **Her**. No flashes of words go off behind your eyes, and the only sparks are from how he blisses you out.

 

“Could you spread your legs a little? Yeeah, good boy, thank you Karkat.” He’s rubbing your ass cheeks, squeezing them and playing as he gets a good view of your nook, all ash purple and candy red. You breathe calmly, head sideways on the soft bed he owns that you could never afford. You’re just breathing, relaxed as if he isn’t taking you in like cold water on a hellish day. He tries to savour it, but you feel his impatience in his squeezes.

 

“Fuck you’re so pretty…” he mutters. It makes you blush like you’re 6 sweeps. “Are you gonna be nice and wet for me? Gonna take me in, hug me real tight?” He leans down, one hand pressing on the small of your back and sliding up your spine to keep your chest and head down as his smooth voice drawls, “How much did your poor little nook miss my cock? Fuckin’ cruel, separain’ these two lovebirds like that. True love is serious business and who are we to break that shit up? Fuckin’ no one, that’s who.” You’ve gotten used to his rambling. It’s annoying sometimes, but mostly you find it endearing.

 

“I missed you…” you admit quietly. It’s not an answer or reply really. Just a statement. Everything he was doing stops like your words froze him, and if you didn’t know better, you’d be more anxious than you are that you direly screwed up. It still unnerves you, but you trust him. You don’t know why, but you trusted him from the moment you saw him.

 

He lets out a shaky sigh, and next thing you know, he’s flipped you onto your back and is kissing you so desperately you feel like he’s drowning and you’re his only source of air. He gets off the most when you say sweet things, simple things. And honestly, you’re the same. Whenever he dares to say he loves you, which is both so foreign and yet so natural to see his lips form, you are completely melted down to your core. You’re nothing but a gooey hot ball of pleasure.

 

You really wish you hated it. But you don’t hate it at all.

 

“How much-,” he asks breathlessly on your lips as he rustles a hand between you, “how much did you miss me?”

 

You’re at a loss to answer him because actually thinking about it leaves you just as breathless and confused. There’s too much feeling to really explain, and it just leaves you frustrated and angry and bursting with unspoken words you can’t quite catch. He keeps kissing your cheeks, the corner of your mouth, and you feel his hand sliding down your stomach until it’s right there between your thighs in your underwear. You let out a sharp whimper, mostly in surprise because his fingers aren’t cold but they’re touching such hot flesh that the nerves are hypersensitive.

 

“Karkat…” he huffs, humid breath on your jaw that you can easily close your eyes and remember on your nook, on your bulge. You need him so bad that it makes your chest ache.

 

He’s still waiting for that answer, even as his fingers gently rub circles on the swollen lips of your nook. “Karkat…” he repeats, and it’s in his voice how desperate he is for reassurance, it’s almost heartbreaking. There’s a cracking in his voice, he sounds so very small, and you couldn’t protect him worth a shit but you want to, you want to wrap him up in your arms and kiss him until any pain he has goes away.

 

“So much, I missed you so much.” you answer with a tremble in your own voice. You press kisses on his head and some on his lips as he moves over you. He eats it up, you know he does, so you continue. And really you feel like you mean it, with every bit of you right now. “I missed your touch, I missed you inside of me…” You kiss sloppily, heated breath and saliva on engorged lips. “I missed you so much Dave…” Why is that name so familiar? Why does it feel like you’ve said that so many times before? Everything with him is déjà vu. Everything.

 

It’s all too much, all kisses and fucking, and he takes forever to actually penetrate you with anything more than fingers, but it all feels like it ends sooner than it began. You don’t even care about the physical pleasure of it. That’s not what makes you grab at his undershirt as he redresses.

 

Not once during this exchange have you felt as desperate as you do now. This…this is the rawest you’ve felt during these exchanges. You look up at him from the disheveled bed, naked and grey skin still flushed from your thighs to your cheeks. Nothing to hide you outwardly and eyes betraying what’s inward. God your throat’s so tight suddenly, and you have to focus to breathe steadily.

 

“Don’t-“ you start, but stop. His stare isn’t cold, but it’s unfeeling. There’s no heat, no sadness, it’s nothing. He’s checked out. He’s Her Knight again. Your fingers reflexively clench his shirt before retreating. You hope your feelings follow suit, because you can’t stomach feeling so much when you’re alone. You’re hugging your knees loosely, head turned away, when he startles you by a hand playing with your hair. Your eyes ask him for something your voice can’t.

 

There’s still no actual feeling to him until he gives you a ghost of a smile. “You always had messy hair, huh?”

 

Somehow, you feel like that wasn’t what he’d truly wanted to say. But it’s what he leaves you with.

**Author's Note:**

> Please pretty please tell me what you think of it, no matter how simple a comment! Let me know you want to see more, encouragement is very inspiring! Constructive criticism is also always welcome.
> 
> The second chapter should be coming up briefly.


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